Bittersweet Chocolate
by amaretto and coke
Summary: Maria's life will change after Jack's first two years in FlowerBud Village, in so many ways. The story of one young woman's metamorphosis, and the changes of all those around her.
1. Prologue

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me ta mor pho sis n_._ _1 a change of form (by natural or supernatural means). 2 a changed form. 3 a change of character, conditions, etc. 4 _Zool_. the transformation between an immature form and an adult form._

With a quiet sigh, I close the dictionary and rub my stinging eyes. It's almost 4. I'll be closing up soon.

The elderly farmer who owned the large ranch in the middle of the county died yesterday. I knew him well enough to know that he was a major force behind our village's financial security, and that his influence would be sorely missed. But I knew next to nothing about him personally. I rarely met him in the street, and had almost no opportunity to speak with him on holidays, as he usually spent his time with other influential men like the innkeeper and the buyer. Now that I really think about it, though I can't say how many people _knew_ him, everyone knew _of_ him. His farm was unusually prosperous, and it was rumored that the Harvest Goddess held him in high favor.

I don't really believe in the Harvest Goddess, myself. Sure, I wear the ill-fitting costume every year, and I give half-hearted attention to the legends, but I don't expect Her to do much for us. I guess that's typical of my generation: only two of my female friends really believe in Her, and of those two, only one is devout in her faith, the other one believing as far as she can use that faith to assist in birthing. A third girl I know has an intellectual faith, based on the stories that her parents have told her, but she thinks of the Goddess as more of a Fairy Godmother, a wish-granting genie. The last girl doesn't believe at all, as far as I can see.

Besides, the Harvest Goddess is also the patron saint of marriages, and how can I believe in Her, when every marriage that I see is broken or miserable? Of those girls that I mentioned, two are missing one parent, one is missing both while providing care to an aged and immobile grandparent, and as for the other girl and myself…we have daily evidence of how wretched conditions are in an ill-matched marriage. Her parents at least fight in order to make up; mine exist in silent contempt of one another. My father lives to research plants, and I have taken up reading in order to have _something_ in common with him. My mother is bound by archaic ideas of what a wife should be like, subjecting us all to ranting fits when her attempts at cooking go awry. It's discouraging, to say the least.

I don't want to think about marriages. That's why I hide myself in this dim library surrounded by dust and old crackling pages. The only eligible men in the village are Rick and the Doctor, anyway. The blacksmith's grandson has just come into town, but he is moody and unresponsive to almost everyone. A young man named Kai runs the food shop on the beach during the summer, giving us one season per year to make contact with him; Popuri latched onto him long ago. I try to focus on the manuscript that I am writing as I think about all of this. Marriage is not for me. If only I were like Ann or Popuri or Karen. I could shout it to the world then. Or even like Elli, who really doesn't care one way or the other.

But I'm just plain old, ugly duckling Maria. I'm pale and I'm drab and I wear glasses to hide my eyes that are too large for my face. I'm not boisterous like Ann or melodramatic like Popuri, or stunning like Karen or embracing like Elli. I'm too quiet and too proper and too standoffish and too boring. And if marriage doesn't interest me, I surely don't interest marriage, either.

…but I digress. The old gentleman's funeral is tomorrow, and no one would be boorish enough to miss it.

* * *

A/N: This is a mix of HM64 and HM:BtN. Most elements will be from BtN since that's what I'm currently playing, but I like the name 'Maria' better than 'Mary', and I'll probably keep a few of the festivals from HM64 as well. Forgive me for thinking that both games are a lot of fun!


	2. Stage 1: Egg

Things have been the same around Mineral Town for as long as I can remember. This is a small town, tied into the land so strongly that even our festivals are merely reminders that we need the land to survive. Events don't really happen in a small town. So when strangers come breezing in to assume responsibility, it's a big deal.

The rumor that a relative of the old farmer – his grandson, in fact – is coming to take over the property is causing much bated breath. After all, it isn't every day that a distant relative comes to completely take control of an interest. Saibara's grandson doesn't count in this case; the metalworker barely tolerates his younger charge. Based on their current relationship, leaving his shop in Gray's hands would be entirely out of the question.

I consider these things while eating the cabbage rolls on my plate. They're the only part of the meal that I can completely enjoy apart from dessert. My father, Basil, talks endlessly and cheerfully about plants, horticulture, botany. All he needs is a listening ear, as opposed to a dialogue. My mother, Anna, listlessly stirs the food on her plate. To an outsider, it might appear that she is listening attentively, but I know better. The wandering gaze, the slight pursing of her lips, the fingers that make an endless pattern on the table while my father goes over the properties of wild herbs, these are simple but unmistakable clues that her mind is elsewhere. What she thinks about, I do not know. Surely the gossip sessions that she attends daily aren't all that preoccupying.

"…so what do you think, Maria?"

"Sounds good," is my pat response. He isn't looking for anything deeper; our true conversations only happen while he and I go on a walk by ourselves. And incidentally, those talks rarely revolve around plants. But even though Papa knows that he is ignored while at home, his natural enthusiasm for the subject keeps him rattling on in the face of stony silence. No college professor ever displayed more persistence towards unwilling students than did my father towards Mama and me.

"Great! Well, when you steep the roots in a mild chicken base, you can get…"

"Dear, _please._" Mama throws her fork down, lips drawn in a tight line. "Let's not talk about that anymore for the day. Besides, I heard some absolutely wonderful news."

Papa pouts. The expression, in my eyes, has always been adorable. Tonight it is no less charming, though predictably enough Mama is not impressed. "What could be more important than making good use of the ecology, dear?"

She turns her gaze onto me, and I feel my heart sinking. If the gossip _du jour_ is pertinent to me, this is a bad sign. "I'm sure that you know the farmer's grandson is coming to town for his father's funeral. And maybe you know that he's planning to take over that old farm, so he'll be here for a while. I think that it would be good if you maybe went over there after the funeral and took him some food, sat with him a while, offered to show him around when he's got time – you know, showed him some hospitality."

It's a desperation pitch, and one that I've heard before, but never in such appalling form. She's all but throwing me at this man! But try as I might, no words of refusal will come, though my face crinkles and I begin to stutter. Not noticing my discomfort, she adds in, "And when you go tomorrow, would it be too much trouble for you to wear a little makeup? You can borrow some of mine if you'd like."

Papa comes to my rescue by saying, "Anna, I'm pretty sure that Thomas will want to walk the young man around himself. There's no need for Maria to put herself out like that."

"There's no reason why she can't take him a little food, is there?" Her tone is mildly raised. "After all, " – she gives me an appraising look to accentuate her meaning – "_first_ impressions are very important, especially with young men."

I cast my eyes downward. Though my mother isn't quite crude enough to tell me out loud how very average I look, she has a way of saying it loud and clear all the same. My cheeks grow hot and my eyes sting, but I still can't answer her.

"I just don't think it's necessary, Anna." My father's voice is becoming uncharacteristically agitated. "For all we know about him, this young man may have a girlfriend already – he might be married, even! Why are you asking our daughter to do something that she clearly hates to do for someone whom we know next to nothing about?"

"She's a _girl,_ isn't she?" Mama asks, jabbing her finger at me viciously as she glares his way. "She should want to be cute once in a while! Isn't it enough that you spend all _your_ waking hours worrying over plants – you want to raise your daughter to be an eccentric old maid too?"

The tears began to flow. Finally finding my voice, I say, "Excuse me," and leave the table, fleeing upstairs.

My worn teddy bear and lovingly stitched quilt are hidden deep in the hall closet, and because they're practically relics and unsuitable for public display, I only dig them out on special occasions. This night, however, warrants the use of both. I clutch them both to my face and cry as my parents' fight grows louder.

* * *

I don't know how long I've been crying, but suddenly I wake up with my face buried in the quilt. The tears have glued the fabric to my skin. Grimacing, I peel it off gingerly and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. A quiet knock on the door startles me momentarily, but I already know that it's my father. I attempt to smooth out my skirts and regain composure. "Come in."

A light scent of jasmine fills my nostrils as a white linen skirt sweeps past me. My mother seats herself on my bed, looking down at me. She looks haggard. Perhaps the fight with Papa was more intense than she expected?

"Maria, do you think that I put too much pressure on you to be like the other girls?"

The question catches me off-guard, and before I can think hard enough to formulate an answer, she continues:

"Darling, I want – above all things – for you to be happy. I know that you like to read books, and I know that you like insects and plants that most people would find disgusting. And I like the quirks that you have about you – but I'm your mother. A young man might not see any deeper than the outside and assume that you're just not worth bothering to get to know. And I'd hate to see you take up with any old fool out of desperation, because the right man never came looking for you."

At this point I open my mouth to speak, but she stops me with a look. "Don't even bother to say it. I already know that 'you don't want a man to _hunt you down as if you were a piece of meat._' Sweetheart, please try to understand where I'm coming from. If you don't even try to make yourself more attractive towards men, no one will ever 'hunt you down' because no one will think that it's worth doing. And people are a lot more shallow than you think. Looks aren't everything, but they're important."

She looks at me and sighs, her eyes losing the hard edge and becoming liquid. "Maria, you're almost nineteen, and you've never expressed interest in any man. I'm worried about you. Your father's worried about you. I don't want to see you get older and afraid of being alone, and just jump into the arms of the first womanizer who comes through town one day. That would break my heart. Do you understand me?"

Cowed into submission, I nod mutely and she seems satisfied. "Good. Well, that's one problem out of the way…what do you think of this dress?" She opens the door and with a rustle of fabric, pulls a black dress into the room. Apparently she had hidden it on the doorknob before she knocked.

I stare at it, imagining what it might look like on Popuri, or contrasted with Karen's hair. Both images are good, so I immediately realize that this dress is not for me. "What am I supposed to think?"

She glowers at me, exasperated. "I want you to wear this to the funeral tomorrow. You can't go dressed in that jumper, you need to wear something black." My face must show my consternation, because she sighs impatiently. "Maria, stop it, already. It's not immodest and it's not decadent. It is a simple satin sheath, and if it's really going to kill you to show your arms, you're welcome to borrow one of my knit shawls. But you're wearing it, and that's final." She sweeps out of the door and shuts it firmly behind her before I can work up enough nerve to utter a syllable.

Dejected, I turn the covers back on the bed and gather up my pajamas. I might as well just take a bath now, because in the morning the house will be utterly chaotic and I might not have a chance. As I approach the door, Mama swings it open again. "And I want you to wear your hair down, too, so get some of my big rollers out of the bathroom before you go to bed and I'll set your hair."

* * *

At 10 a.m. exactly, the church doors close.

The seats are full; the aisles are packed. People have come from five towns away to pay their respect. Mama was right about needing to wear black; every pew is awash in dark-colored clothing. I huddle into the shawl that is more for decoration than warmth, trying to remain inconspicuous. Pastor Carter gestures, and the collective stands. We know exactly which song to sing, so as soon as he begins to conduct, we start 'It is well with my Soul'. The words don't really mean anything to me, because we never sing this song unless someone has died, which doesn't happen very often. Also, it seems to be of a completely different religious nature, so singing 'the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend' is an exercise in futility for me.

The service and the viewing are tastefully executed, though, and about two hours later we filter back out of the church in the direction of the Inn, where several tables of food are waiting for us. By the time I get there, the other local girls are in a knot, chattering excitedly.

"…I saw him, did you?"

"…he's _so_ cute…"

"…heard he's definitely single…"

"Is he straight?" Karen asks sardonically and everyone laughs. The last overly handsome guy who came through town had such an intense interest in Kano, the town's resident shutterbug, that after he left, tongues wagged for several days about secret meetings in the Inn and forbidden trysts on Mother's Hill. Kano himself has yet to entirely live it down. "He seems too pretty to be the real thing."

"Jealous that he might beat you out for Spring Goddess this year, Karen?"

More giggling. Karen huffs and turns away, nearly bumping into me. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am…_Maria?"_

Then they all turn to look at me, and they all smile. Some of those smiles are coy, one is surprised. "Wow, look at Miss Beautiful!"

I look down, embarrassed. "My mother made me wear this…"

"I figured as much," Ann says, stretching over the pile of biscuits to give me a hug. "But I must say, you look fantastic. Would it kill you to dress like this more often?"

"Like what?" Unconsciously, defensively, my arms fold. I feel like I'm being sized up in their eyes, and whether for good or for ill, I don't like it.

"Like…this." Popuri gestures at me. "Maria, you look really good in clothes that fit you, why don't you wear them?"

"Because I don't like them," I answer, earnestly. My hands are starting to clench together. "I'm really uncomfortable right now anyway, and there's no reason for me to dress like this all the time, so please don't bring it up again."

Karen and Elli look at each other, and I see a sort of mutual shrug pass between the two of them. Then Elli gives me a tight squeeze and says, "Well, in any case, you look great with your hair down." She lets go to announce, "I have to go see about Stu, he's been upset for a while. This funeral happening, and Grandma being old and all, you know."

Ann is called away by her father, and Popuri, Karen and I are left alone. Popuri leans in close and whispers quietly, "Maria, did you get a chance to see the old man's grandson?"

"No," I say, honestly. I spent most of the service staring at my feet, trying to avoid the stares of visitors, and there were so many to avoid, so many strange eyes roaming over my vulnerable skin. Even Gray accosted me before I could get in the church, flattering me as best he could in his own way. Some people just really have no sense of timing.

"He's pretty darn good-looking," Popuri continues, with a significant nod.

I look at Karen for a confirmation, and she nods slowly. "That's a good-looking guy, all right. Kind of soft, though…you think he can handle a farm by himself?"

"Who knows," I answer softly. I'm trying to avoid my mother's eyes as she looks for me frantically. If she sees me, she'll wave me over in the most attention-grabbing fashion possible, because right now the young man is standing very close to my father. Mama, for once show some propriety!

"Trying to hide from your mom?" Popuri asks. Her face is twisted in a grimace, but I can recognize it as a show of sympathy. I affirm by nodding, and she clucks her tongue empathetically. "Stupid Rick's probably got the same ideas. I can't wait until summer so I can talk to Kai. I really don't think that I'm going to stay in this place for another two years and listen to Rick gripe and moan. Karen, you know what he said about you the other night…?" And just like that, the entire conversation was over as they went to a confidential corner.

My mother, finally spotting me, comes bounding over. "Maria! I've been looking for you forever! Where have you been?" Her grip is unshakable as she marches me across the room, to where my father is standing alone. When she realizes that the young man has fled the scene, her face visibly drops. "Basil, where is he?"

"He left," Papa says, shrugging.

"I told you to keep him here and talk to him until I found Maria!"

"I did," he answers petulantly. "But I think that he reserves the right to walk away once a conversation is over, doesn't he? I had nothing else to say to him, so he left."

Mama flings my arm down in a temper as her face grows livid. I can see that she's forgotten that I'm even here, so I take the opportunity to glide away silently. She'll give him a piece of her mind, and he'll all but ignore her as she does so. After all, when it comes to the fine art of _listening_ to a person without _hearing_ him, he's had opportunity to learn from the best, every night over dinner. I take a plate from the gleaming stack and enter the line of people at the buffet.

Brown hair, stiff with gel, catches my attention, primarily because no one in the village wears the stuff except Kano, and his hair is decidedly black. It must be one of the guys from the surrounding villages. I look back, and find myself staring into a pair of light green eyes. _Nice color._

"Hi there," says the person attached to the eyes.

I nod, fiddling with my fork.

"You're a resident of this village, I take it?"

I nod again.

"And obviously a talented conversationalist, I can see."

This time I not only smile and nod, but actually make an effort to speak. "I'm not very good at a spontaneous conversation. I usually think for a time before answering anyone, even good friends."

"I think that you made a good job of it just then." He accepted a ladle of mashed potatoes. "What did you think of the service?"

"I didn't realize so many people knew him. It's amazing to see just how many people's lives he touched by growing plants and being good-hearted."

"I think so, too. I didn't know that they were going to sing that hymn for him, did you? I haven't heard it for years. It sounded beautiful." He stopped talking long enough to thank Doug for the spicy fried eggplants.

"They usually sing that one when people die. I don't really feel anything about it, because I don't know what it's about." Ann gives me a biscuit and upon seeing who's behind me, a wink. I'm confused. Does she think that this man is talking to me for any other reason other than to kill time while he gets food?

"Really? It's a song about the Christian faith. The last verse is straight out of the book of Revelations." He takes a glass of water and begins to pass me. "Well, thanks for taking time to talk with me. Hopefully we'll meet under happier circumstances."

"Yeah," I murmur. He vanishes amongst the milling crowds, and I find my parents again. Mama looks moody; Papa is whistling tunelessly under his breath. They've clearly been fighting, but given it up for the time being. It will continue at home, though. I wish that I could go over to a friend's house, but at a time of such financial uncertainty it might be seen as highly presumptuous.

I can't even go talk with one of the girls, as all of them are preoccupied with their own personal crises. Ann is whirling around like a dervish, trying to simultaneously serve guests, bring food from the back and give advice to the cooks. Karen and Rick are outside in a standoff, Elli's trying desperately to comfort her little brother who is on the verge of tears, and Popuri is fuming after getting a good going-over from her mother about prying into her brother's affairs. It looks like I'm on my own for the night.

Absently, I finger the tiny library key that hangs on a gold chain around my neck. Perhaps one extra book missing for the evening won't make that much of a difference.


	3. The Egg: Part 2

As we begin to take our leave of the group, Mama takes my arm once again. "Maria, look –" she points, but discreetly – "that's him." He's leaving, led out of the door by Mayor Thomas. "I've set aside a plate of cake in the cooler for you. Make sure to take it to him this afternoon."

"Dear," Papa said, loudly enough to get his point across, "come with me. Let's walk home together. It's such a beautiful evening tonight." Thus successfully disengaging her, he makes for the door.

"Awww!" a feminine voice coos in my ear. "They're just so sweet together. It's always wonderful to see two people who've loved each other since they were teenagers still wanting to be romantic in middle age." Manna plops down next to me, smiling fondly as she begins reminiscing. "I do wish that Duke was the same as your father, Maria. I know that Anna thinks that Basil is obsessed with plants, but believe you me it's nothing to how much Duke is in love with drinking. I tell you, if the man could physically marry liquor he would." She sighs, pouting. "I can't remember the last time he wanted to hold my hand and walk anywhere. I think sometimes that I could just walk out of the house for a few days and as long as I left enough wine and cheese to last while I was gone he'd never notice. I wonder if Aja felt the same way." Suddenly her expression turns sad and troubled. "Maria, what if that's it? What if my daughter left because she felt neglected by her parents? Oh, how vexing! To think…" and she goes off into a muse.

Quietly, I leave her to herself, and exit quickly. The library stands tall in the distance, beckoning. I slip in without turning on the lights; I know exactly where to go to get my fix. First floor, section one, towards the bottom. No one wants to kneel in the dust and peer at the lowest shelves, and precisely for that reason, I store my guilty pleasures here. Book in hand, I lock up and make the short trip home.

The front room is quiet, but not empty. Papa is waiting for me at the table as I slip in the door. "Oh, honey, there you are. Sit down for a moment."

I sit. He fixes me with his frank gaze. "Maria, do you want to go over to the farmer's house?"

I shake my head mutely. He nods, a grimace pulling at one side of his mouth. "I thought as much. Well, sweetie, I'm behind you, no matter what." He takes my small hand in his rough one and looks at me, eyes full of emotion. "No matter what, Maria."

I manage a smile. Despite Mama's opinion of him and his work, he has always known me much better. "Thank you, Papa."

He smiles as well, releasing me. "I'm glad you said 'no'."

"Why's that?" I'm heading upstairs as we speak, but I stop to look at him from over the old wooden banister.

His face grows mischievous. "Because I ate that cake right before you came in."

* * *

When I slip into my room and turn on the lamp, the first thing I do, apart from locking the door to avoid unwanted company, is slip out of this miserable dress. The material is sticking to my humid skin, making me increasingly ill at ease. That done, I pull my hair up into a messy bun. It isn't my usual style, but it doesn't matter, considering that I'll just pull it out of the bun as I read and braid it. It's a nervous habit, and one that I rather like; since I braid and re-braid my hair so much, I never worry that it appears unkempt.

I forgo the jumper and collared shirt for today. I don't intend to leave the house again, and it's so warm that something lighter would be a welcome change. I rummage through the bureau, finding some old exploring clothes of Papa's in the form of a soft, worn shirt and some cotton shorts. They feel cool on my skin as I slip into them. I catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror, just in time to see the fading scar on my lower abdomen.

_It's been nearly three years…_

I push the thought down, hastily, and throw myself onto the bed. The springs make a mild protest under the sudden impact. I hear stirring in the room across the hall; my mother's probably sitting at her vanity. "Maria? You're home?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Please don't make so much noise, dear…I've got a bad headache."

"Yes, Mama." I flip towards the middle of this book; I want to pick up where the bandit drags the unsuspecting servant girl out into the desert. The pages skim by my fingers as I hunt down a dog-ear. I stop, but five words into the paragraph I realize that I'm in the wrong spot. I'm about to try again when blue ink catches my eye. The bandit's name is underlined, there are hand-written notes in the margin. I frown, looking closer.

_Sherman__ is like Eduardo._

I let out a breath that I didn't even know I was holding. 'Eduardo' was the aforementioned bandit: darkly handsome, mocking at established precedent, but with a strong sense of morality, dashing, arrogant. Everything that was out of reach for me as a poor girl in a small town. And Sherman? Sherman was…oh Goddess.

I didn't want to think about Sherman. I didn't want to remember. I roll over and my shirt hitches up, exposing one side of my waist. The very ends of the scar on my stomach confront me.

For several minutes I look at it, the only external proof of how different my life had been. Because I have changed.

Eventually, I wander over to the desk, drag out several pieces of paper and a steel-point pen, and begin to write. If I'm doomed to reminisce constantly, I might as well write some of it down. It might help me in the long run. And if it doesn't…that's what the fireplace in my parents' room is for.

_Sherman__ Jerkins is like Eduardo. He is everything that is out of reach for me now. I say 'now' because once I loved __Sherman__ Jerkins more than life itself –_ I stop and scratch out everything after 'once I'. Unconsciously, my right hand has buried itself in my bun, pulling out the hair clips – _was different. I was altogether different than what I have become through living life._

_Sherman__ was a man who came through town like a whirlwind. He was experienced in the ways of the world, intelligent, crafty, and strikingly handsome to my callow eyes. And I – I was young, foolish, and –_ I stop again. It takes so much effort to write this, because I must remember what I was and I did, and it brings tears to my eyes even now, three years down the road. Swallowing thickly, I began once more _– in the eyes of many, beautiful. I was not fully matured, but I was beginning to blossom, to grow ripe._

Despite the seriousness of the topic, I have to stifle a chuckle. The plant references, so carefully implanted by my father, are catching up to me again. I can't even write about a topic so serious as my first love without referencing plants.

First love? I shake my head, spilling hair everywhere. It couldn't have been love. I think of an ancient, withered grizzly bear so desperate for food that it eats even the immature fruit, and grow somber. _I was too beautiful for my own good. I allowed myself to be duped and defiled by a man who praised me for my beauty, and took advantage of my gullibility._

_When we first met, as I offered him a cake fresh from Mama's oven, he reminded me very much of Eduardo, the rogue hero of my favorite tawdry novel, and I was fool enough to tell him so. So inexperienced was I not to realize that he was fully aware of the character, and cunning enough to use my infatuation to his own advantage. I found myself courted with alacrity, not wise enough to see that the very words he used to sway my heart came straight from other novels by the same author._

_So flattered was I, so duped, that I believed myself in love with a man that I had known hardly two weeks. Certainly, he was at least twice my age, and what of it? We were in love! _The words swim out of focus and before I can remove my glasses, a tear falls onto the page and muddies the ink_. I agreed to begin meeting him in secret._

_To cover his trail, __Sherman__ began to spend an inordinate amount of time with __Kano__, the local photographer. The town gossips assumed that the interest was – less delicate than a mere friendship. The two of them were watched and spied upon everywhere they went together. So when __Sherman__ told me to meet him on Mother's Hill, and made love to me after taking care to cover our bodies with a quilt, the rumor was out the next day that he and __Kano__ were lovers. Our secret was safe._

_Secrets never stay hidden for long, though, and several months after his initial arrival, I found myself pregnant. I told __Sherman__ at our next meeting, as soon as I was positive. He seemed glad, and wanted to talk with my parents._

_The resulting 'talk' was a complete fiasco. Mama absolutely refused to let 'some dried-up prune of a whorish wolf' marry her little girl. Papa, while less vehement, explained to Sherman that he was taking unfair advantage of someone too young to know her own mind, and that it would be in everyone's best interests if Sherman were to leave town altogether. And so, dejected by the resistance of resolute parents, __Sherman__ left that night, leaving me only a note and a business card with an address somewhere in --------shire, __England_

_I have never opened the note. It was enough to know that __Sherman__ would not return, and that I was carrying his baby. Sunshine was gray; light was fog. I became wan and thin, unable to eat. My mother scolded me thoroughly and often, although I'm sure that it was milder than it would have been without Papa's intervention. I could not find any pleasure in books, and spent my days indoors, staring at my growing belly with dismay._

_One evening, after a horrible scene at dinner, I retreated to my room to sleep – and woke up in the clinic. The Doctor told me that I had miscarried, and worse yet, breached._

_Horror overtook me. I had read enough to know what that meant. I struggled to sit up, but the boiling, gnawing pain that filled my belly forced me down quickly enough. The Doctor gave me a look full of pity before pulling back the bloodstained blankets._

_Ever since that time, I could not believe in the Harvest Goddess._

I throw the pen down and snatch the papers up, intending to rip them to shreds. But the moment of fury passes, and instead I place them in the desk next to the business card that I have never used, and the note that remains sealed yet. Slowly dragging myself back into bed, I open the book again, making very sure to ignore anything written in blue ink.

* * *

Life in a small town definitely has a way of centering a person. It's just good enough to keep you pleased with your lot in life, and just bad enough to keep you from becoming bored to the point of madness. It's a quiet Monday morning as the three of us leave town by the path that branches off Rose Square through Chicken Lil's. Gotz waves us a friendly hello and I automatically wave back, making a note to offer him a bamboo shoot if I see him later, assuming that I'm fortunate enough to get one of my own. Despite a heavy growth of forest, they're becoming scarcer.

We trek onwards and upwards, stopping in the huge buffalo wallow that has since become a haven for flowers. It's a wonderful area to be in for its natural beauty alone. The ground is hollowed out and flat at the bottom, and if you lie in it at 9 a.m. or 3 p.m., the sunlight filters through the grass with such enveloping warmth that you may feel as though you're lying in a green cup, which isn't too far from the truth. If Papa's work goes slowly today, I may do just that.

A bug goes flying past. Then another. Then another. I reach out with deft fingers and snag a beetle on the wing. It's quite the aggressive little bugger, snapping at me with small mandibles and struggling against my grip. I could harm its exoskeleton in my eagerness, so I let it go and watch as the gauzy caterpillars hunch themselves along the ground. The larvae from the last season have emerged in spectacular fashion as a cloud of brightly colored butterflies that roam about the fields and cluster thickly on the Moon Drops. I watch them, feeling happy.

Mama is nearby, watching me. When I finally take notice of her, her first question is, "Did you take the cake to the young man, Maria?" There is an edge to her voice.

For once, I know exactly what to say. I answer, "No Mama, I didn't. As a matter of fact, I spent some time yesterday thinking about the last time I took cake to a newcomer, and how well it turned out."

Her face darkens, and she looks away from me. Her temper is struggling to erupt from her mouth, but she does not take the same pleasure in berating me as she does with Papa. It is, however, some time before she speaks again. "I don't know why you had to bring that up, Maria. Any fool could see that there's no relativity between the two events. Jack is a nice boy who's been college educated, the grandson of a reputable farmer who spent his life establishing himself as the pillar of a community. That man," she spits the word as distastefully as a piece of gristle, "was nothing more than a predator. Why were we just meeting him in time for him to announce that you were pregnant and he wanted to take you to….wherever it was he was from and marry you!" She looks at me sharply. "You weren't seriously entertaining the idea of marrying that lunatic, were you?"

"I didn't get the chance to decide," I say simply, and we lapse into a leaden silence. The sun moves slowly across the sky and the winds blow. My father toils on alone as I sit and Mama stands, unresponsive.

"Hullo, Jack!"

"Hello, sir! Erm…Basil, correct?"

My mother turns before hauling me up by the arm and hissing, "Dust your skirt off! You look like a field laborer."

I pull away from her, my cheerful mood evaporating like mist off a lake. Jack is coming our way. He looks different without the hair gel. My mother gives him a polite nod, a suitable greeting to convey her friendliness, yet maintain the superiority of an elder. "Jack, how good to see you again! I see the Mayor's given you the grand tour of town."

He nods. "Yes, ma'am. It's very pretty."

"Quite so. It's very picturesque. My daughter, Maria, has often said that the town looks like the lands from fairy tales. On a day like today, it's quite grand, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes ma'am. I'm planning on going up Mother's Hill right now to take in the view."

"Oh!" She injects just enough surprise to come out sounding coy. "Well, take it from me, Jack, Mother's Hill is never quite so pleasant as when you take someone with you. The views are wonderful, but they're not much fun alone."

At this point, I just want to sink into the ground. My ears sting; they're burning red.

"Really, dear," Papa puts in, "we'd better be going now. It's the hottest part of the day, and I'm so looking forward to lunch – and one of your cakes."

Mama sighs and gives Jack a rueful grin. "Of course. Everyone's hungry, _all of a sudden_…well, take care, Jack."

"Yes, ma'am." He touches his cap respectfully and turns his head, eyes finally falling on me. He grins. "Hello, Miss Mime."

The very tips of my ears are ablaze. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, bad joke. Pantomimes usually wear black, and they don't talk much, so…like I said, bad joke."

Ah, yesterday. I began to smile, but it starts off so uncertainly that it turns into a frown. "Oh, I see."

"Do you come up here often?"

"Often enough." I've dug a small hole in the dirt with the tip of my toe, another nervous habit. "I'm sorry, I have to catch up with my parents. See you later." I go.

"Goodbye, Maria." He stays, watching me leave. I can still see his smile.


	4. The Egg: Part 3

'Tomorrow will be a cool, but sunny, spring day.'

The talking head chatters on as Papa examines a cocoon and Mama stirs a pot of fitfully bubbling soup. I continue to make notes in a book, reminding myself to read over the passages twice. Since my mother made the discovery that Papa and I colluded to avoid giving the farmer's grandson – sorry, _Jack _- her precious cake, she's taken to punishing us both in exactly the same way: she forces us to sit out front with her. She could have hardly devised a more effective punishment, as we both need quiet to work effectively, and she enjoys leaving the television on, even if she isn't actively watching it.

Papa is chafing under the strain of unnecessary white noise; he drops his polishing tool twice in ten seconds. He must feel my eyes on him, as he glances up at me and our eyes mirror our mutual chagrin. So be it; we knew the consequences of defying Mama.

"Soup's on!" she announces brightly as she heaves the cast-iron pot towards the squat, three-legged spider on the table. It serves a useful purpose, to permit a hot pot to sit on the table without risk of singing the tablecloth. Mama bought it from the Asian peddler who regularly comes through the town. He convinced her that it would make a charming addition to her table setting. Papa thinks it's hideous; I agree. Neither of us has nerve enough to throw it away.

We approach the table and seat ourselves as Mama carefully ladles out spicy seafood chowder. It smells good, but pleasant aroma is not the best way to judge my mother's cooking. One of the worst cakes she's ever made smelled magnificent due to the stewed pumpkin. Unfortunately, she used three cups of salt instead of sugar and…well, Papa's stomach took a week and a half to settle.

After a cursory blessing, we begin to eat. There's a thick broth containing fish, flour dumplings, potatoes, carrots, peppers and the requisite herbs. The food is actually quite good, but the silence is oppressive, so much so that I can hardly swallow. Papa is eating quickly; it must be close to 7:30, the time when he heads to the bar. Mama looks as though she wants to speak, but realizing that her audience isn't there, continues to sip her soup.

My spoon rattles against the empty bowl, catching her attention. "Would you like more, Maria?"

"No thanks," I murmur.

She gives me a cool glance and purses her lips. "You know, if the two of you think that sitting around sulking is going to help matters, you can both just think again. We're a family, and forgive me for being old-fashioned enough to think that we ought to act like one every now and again. There's absolutely no reason for the two of you to spend all of your waking hours holed up in your rooms instead of talking like normal people."

"Normal people like to do various things," I point out, "and they don't necessarily involve talking."

Her glare becomes stony. "Your idea of 'normal' is a little skewed, Maria. Do you have any idea what the girls your age like to do for fun? How many of them enjoy poisonous mushrooms for gifts? Which of them ever spent four hours on Mother's Hill watching bugs?"

"Enough," Papa says, more harshly than is his wont. "Anna, you can talk to me when I come back if you have a problem. But I won't have you speak to Maria like that."

"Of course not!" Mama rips the linen napkin from her neckline and throws it down. "How dare _I _want anything more! How dare I ask for something as _mundane_ and _average _as wanting my husband and daughter to enjoy something that I like to do! Goddess' sake, how long am I supposed to just sit here quietly while you and Maria enjoy your club for two and laugh at me for wanting to do something that doesn't involve nature? Don't come back tonight, Basil. I don't want to see you." Sweeping away majestically, she marches up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door for emphasis.

Papa shrugs indifferently, though his face tells a different story. "Well, I guess I'll stay at the Inn tonight. Will you stay here, Maria?"

"I'll probably be at Elli's."

"Sounds good. Oh…" He turns back, hand on the door. "Had you planned to go to the Spring Goddess Festival?"

"I suppose I'd better. Mama's angry enough as it is."

"Right. Well, I'll escort you, if you'd like."

I don't answer, but I don't have to. Unspoken communication is something that he and I have had quite some time to perfect. "Goodnight, Papa."

As the front door closes quietly, I struggle with the kettle of stew, finally managing to get it onto the counter. Then comes portioning and wrapping and sealing, and all is put away. I take the rough sponge and the slimy brown soap and begin to scrub the deep pot, the monotony of cleaning soothing to my nerves.

My mother seems to be unaware that Papa and I don't enjoy fighting with her. If anything, we simply want to be left alone to pursue our academics. I, in particular, don't enjoy watching television all that much, fashion means next to nothing to me, and ever since three years ago I have an intense dislike of meaningless gossip. I know that it bewilders her to have two people in the house so unlike herself, but I've tried to participate in things that she considers enjoyable, and I just don't feel the same at all. Being myself, there's really nothing I can do to please her. It's a shame; she would have been much happier with a daughter like Popuri.

The aged, pitted pot is clean. Turning it over to dry, I squeeze out the sponge, set it aside and extinguish the gas lights. It's as quiet as a mouse in here, and despite everything that has happened tonight, I pity her in her intense loneliness. I wonder just how much she regrets her marriage.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, I slip out. Fortunately, Elli lives just next door. Neither of my parents is keen on my walking in the dark, despite my protestations that nothing at all happens here.

'You never know,' Mama said ominously the last time the subject came up. 'I suppose you haven't heard about the young lady three villages over who was attacked while walking to a friend's house less than a mile away.'

'Mama, she was bitten by a dog.'

'The point is, the shorter the distance you walk alone, the better. Now would you stop fighting with me?'

* * *

"Hi, Maria," Stu says, holding the door open as I enter into the comforting brightness of the house. Ellen is dozing, but my entrance awakens her quickly enough.

"Oh, Maria! So pleasant to see you. I suppose you're looking for Elli?"

"Sort of. I was actually wondering if you would allow me to spend the night."

Ellen's expression becomes somber. "Yes…I heard. You're certainly welcome to stay, of course, but Elli won't be home for some time. One of the youngest colts stepped on Barley's foot and broke three of his toes. In fact, we're expecting Elli to bring May over just as soon as they get the bones set."

"Ah…" I say softly. She's right, of course; I had been hoping to unburden myself to Elli. "Well…" I try again.

"You should go look for Karen on the beach. She's always there this time of night."

Excellent idea. I thank her, and after situating her quilt a little more snugly around her soft shoulders, I leave.

The cobblestones radiate warmth as I pass by the Market, which is currently ringing with the shrill sound of an angry voice. Sasha and Jeff are in the middle of one of their frequent quarrels, but Jeff can't run off afterwards to palliate himself at the bar; he has no tolerance for alcohol. Besides, they make up very easily.

Pastor Carter is playing the organ inside of the locked church. Its haunting dissonance and the pale moonlight washing over the cold marble of the graveyard stir feelings of unreasonable terror, and I break into a run. By the time I reach the seashore, I'm panting and wilted.

"Who's there?" Karen turns, startled by the noise I'm making. The pallid light makes her long hair glow, and she resembles nothing so much as a fairy queen, dancing along the breakers. As she sees me, she visibly relaxes. "Maria, don't run up on people like that! I thought you were a ghost!"

"Sorry," I wheeze. "Can we talk for a little bit?"

"Sure," she says and nimbly skips out to the edge of the pier before plopping down and dangling her long legs over the edge. I follow more slowly.

We don't begin immediately. Karen's moody, like her mother, and her parents' dissensions infuriate her, more so because Jeff rarely fights back. I wait for her signal to start, occupying myself in the meantime with staring down the mist that rises from the waves in thick plumes.

Eventually, she drops back onto the rough wood, lying prone. "Okay. Spill."

"They're fighting again," I reply. "She's kicked him out."

"For keeps, or for the night?"

"The night."

"You left too?"

"Yeah."

She sighs and grabs up a clump of coppery hair, staring at the ends. "I don't get it. Why do aggressive women marry passive men and get angry when they're passive? You'd think people would learn." She stretches her limbs out and sits up by coiling in a ball and balancing on her tailbone. "That's why I'm going to marry Rick no matter what. Because he knows damn well what he wants and he has no problem telling me when he thinks I'm wrong. I hate to see a couple so unevenly matched that one person just gets the hell beaten out of them any time they open their mouth. It's even worse when they have a kid stuck in the middle. I mean, at least my parents try to get me out of the house when they're fighting. Why would anyone _want_ their kid to see them abusing their spouse verbally?" Gracefully, she lowers her legs back down to the dock. "Anyway. You going to the Goddess Festival?"

"I suppose."

She looks at me narrowly. "With Jack?"

"With Papa."

"Oh," she says, mysteriously. There's emotion behind that 'oh', but I can't figure it out on my own. It couldn't be relief, because she just said that she wants to marry Rick.

Can't it?

"I think that Jack's going alone. Everyone already had their date before he came along." She blows her breath out forcefully, and we both watch as it turns into a vaporous cloud before melting away on the strong breeze. "Gray's really upset with his grandfather for not letting him go with you. I don't think he's going to be here long. All they do is fight."

It seems like everyone fights. Ann and Doug fight. Saibara and Gray fight. Duke and Manna fight. Sasha and Jeff fight. Popuri and Rick fight, though to be fair, Rick fights with nearly everyone. "They're from two different worlds. Saibara thinks that Gray's undisciplined, and Gray thinks that Saibara's unfair."

"They're probably both right." She blows another steam cloud before breaking out into hysterical laughter. "Oh, Goddess, Maria, what if that's it all along? People are fighting because neither of them will admit that the other has a point. Oh, that's rich." She laughs again before coughing. "It's getting cold. Must be near ten. We should go home."

* * *

When I open the door of Elli's house, she's made it home, standing next to the stove to snatch the teakettle off the burner as soon as it begins to whistle. Stu and May are bundled up together in a heavy quilt, both children snoring quietly. Ellen is still in her chair next to the fire, having fallen into stupor once more.

"Maria!" she says, carefully adding two teaspoons of sugar to a small mug that already contains milk. "I was just about to send the Doctor out for you. You've been on the beach, I see?"

I blush as I realize that I've tracked sand into the neat house. "Sorry about that."

"No worries," Elli answers quickly, pouring the fragrant liquid into the mug. "I guess your parents have given it up for the night. Someone said they saw your mother prowling near the entrance to the Inn, waiting for your father to come out, but he never did and she went home again. Sasha and Jeff were still going by the time I left the clinic."

"How's Barley?" I accept a cup that she offers me, but decline sugar and milk in favor of strong tea.

"Lousy. He's in a lot of pain. Seems that the colt is overly skittish because they don't have a regular place to keep it. His barns are so full that they have to move it wherever they can from night to night. Tonight was probably just the last straw." She sips cautiously. "He'll be okay as long as the bones heal right and there's no infection. But he's a tough old man and he drinks a lot of milk. I think he'll be fine with a few days of bed rest."

We drink silently.

The tea done, she lends me one of her full length nightgowns and we take the second, unused bed. I'm not used to having a crackling fire going less than twenty feet away from me while I try to sleep, but the warmth feels good on my back and I've drifted off before I know it.

* * *

I wake up before anyone is stirring, dress and head straight to the Inn. Naturally, it's not open, but I'm not averse to waiting.

My patience is quickly rewarded, as Ann comes marching out promptly at seven with a basket on her arm. "Maria! How are you? Come on, I was just headed to the Waterfall to fish." She tromps off without waiting for a response or indeed, even checking to see if I'm following her. Sheepishly, I follow.

She's caught two good-sized fish by the time I struggle to the top of the hill. "So! Would you believe that Dad's already on the prowl? Jack steps into the place and Dad's already asking him if he thinks I'm cute!" She snorts irritably and jerks the rod, but this time she's only caught a boot. Annoyed, she throws it back. "And last night, no less than three people got completely drunk and started screaming at each other as loud as they possibly could. Duke, of course. And Rick, but I expect that from him. But Saibara!" Another fish gleams in the early light. She deftly removes the hook from its lip, baits and casts, all within thirty seconds. "Gray walked in without greeting him and he just lost it. I've _never_ seen him so mad. He was cursing up a storm. Then Duke came butting his nosy self into it and two minutes later they're screaming at each other. I bet they don't even remember what they _thought_ they were fighting about. And then that moron Rick –"

_"Hey!"_ Popuri emerges from the crest of Mother's Hill, looking mildly put out. "That's kind of rude, Ann! Don't call my brother names!"

Ann looks at her, askance, but doesn't stop snapping the line from the water as fish continue to attempt the bait. "Popi, he got into a fight that had absolutely nothing to do with him and starting carrying on about Kai again!"

At this point, I decide that it would be best to take my leave. Kai is such a universal sore spot that the prudent avoid the mention of his name altogether if they can.

* * *

I pass through Rose Square on my way home. Mayor Thomas is nailing up a notice, but stops as I pass. "Good morning, Maria. Your father was just asking me if I had seen you."

"Where was he heading?"

"Mother's Hill."

I look in that direction. Perhaps I should go to him; surely he's feeling lonely. But Mama has a point in saying that we mutually gang up on her. If anything, I should go home and at least try to talk with her -

"Can I presume you won't be opening the library today?"

The library…! I'd completely forgotten all about it. Neglecting to even say goodbye, I dash away, even though the library's hardly 200 yards from the center of town. And it's not like anyone will be there, right?

By the time I reach the front step, my momentum is too great to avoid the masculine body on the front step. Jack grins as he sees me coming, looks surprised when I don't stop, and jumps to his feet to catch me as I gracelessly stumble into his outstretched arms. At the sight of my flaming face, he bursts into laughter. "All in favor of pretending this didn't just happen, say 'aye'."

"Aye," I squeak out.

He sets me upright as gently as if I was a china plate, but doesn't leave as I fumble with the lock. Perturbed, I spare him a glance. "You want to read, right?"

"Was considering it."

The tumblers give way, and the bright light of the outdoors illuminates the wispy cloud of dust that rises as the heavy oaken door swings open. I reach over to the right and hit the myriad of switches. Electric lighting, while not as romantic as lamplight, has its advantages. Particularly when one is running quite late.

Jack wanders upstairs, and I go behind the desk to rummage through a growing pile of invoices. Though my father is the author of approximately 86 of the books on the shelves, the townspeople apparently like different reading material, and are willing to pay to have it shipped in. Furthermore, most of Papa's books aren't pertinent to the general populace, as they don't own farms, and everyone in the area already knows about the mines and the festivals. But no one has the heart to tell him this.

I'm nearly a quarter of the way done with checking and double-checking all information on the requisition slips when a pungent, but pleasant odor assails my nose. Jack is nudging a wooden bowl across the desk at me.

It's warm bamboo rice.

I must have a strange expression on my face, because he smiles that heartrending smile he has. "I thought you might want something…for later."

"Thanks," I whisper, face flushed to the roots of my hair. He nods, and a moment later, the door shuts.

* * *

The clock tower resonates with the effort in striking twelve. I can hear the chatter of the women on this block, namely Mama and Manna, as they head towards the square. Today the gossip should be fierce: between the rowdy antics in the inn last night and the numerous fights breaking out all over town, they'll have enough to talk about right up until three.

Maybe I should close up early and get dinner ready. It wouldn't hurt, and since Mama's going to want to play dress-up with me anyway, considering what tomorrow is…I suppose I could make tonight go as smoothly as possible and be graceful about it for once.

When I come home, Papa is sitting at the kitchen table, carefully dissecting a Moon Drop. "There you are, sweetie. I stopped by Elli's as soon as I woke up, but she told me that you left early in the morning to come to the inn to look for me!"

"I did. I got distracted."

He smiles.

"Papa, stop it. It was Ann."

"Of course. By the way, don't think I didn't hear about that wonderfully choreographed belly flop you did on Jack this morning."

I laugh, remembering what Jack himself had to say on the matter. "It didn't happen."

"But of course it did. Don't you know that Manna sees everything that goes on around this block? She was broadcasting it before she made it to the square proper. Be prepared, your mother will probably have something to say about it when she gets home."

I pour two containers of stew into the heavy crock pot and turn the flame up to medium. This should heat up nicely in thirty minutes. A crusty loaf of sourdough bread, along with some olive oil and rosemary, will make this an enjoyable meal, in taste if not companionship. Despite his seeming nonchalance, I get the feeling that Papa is nervous.

He finishes his sketches of the stamens and cleans up his mess mere moments before the front door opens. Mama comes in, looking puzzled at the sight of us waiting on her, and dinner nearly ready, but she doesn't comment aloud. Instead, she looks into the pot to make sure the food hasn't scorched, and begins to ladle it out.

* * *

The morning dawns, with more than a hint of rain on the horizon. Nonetheless, today is cool and breezy, and I can't help but stare out at the trees as the wind tousles their branches and makes the pale green leaves rattle. Even though this town is tiny and rather boring, there are days when I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

"Maria, where _are_ you?" Mama calls frantically. "Get in here so I can do your hair!"

Torn away from my observations, I walk into her room, where she has an assortment of styling tools warming above the fire. She eyes me for a moment. "How do you want your hair? Curly pony or curly loose?"

"Loose is good." I sit down in front of her vanity and remove my glasses; I won't be permitted to wear them anyway. She sections my scalp expertly, takes a lock, and begins to curl.

Within fifteen minutes the deed is done. I look like Popuri…hair-wise, that is. I can't quite fill out the dress like she does. Carefully, Mama places a wreath of pastel petals on my head, adjusting it so that it fits closely. She looks at me and nods. "You'll do." It's the best compliment that I can hope for from her.

Papa's waiting on us as I slowly descend the staircase. This dress is a relic, but it's Mama's relic and it would never do to mangle it. I would never hear the end of it if I so much as snagged it on a rose bush. He smiles reassuringly at me. "Sweetheart, you look lovely."

I take his outstretched arm. It is kind of embarrassing to realize that you're nineteen years old and you still have your father escorting you to public events, but right now I couldn't ask for a better date. Papa knows me inside and out, well enough to know that if he doesn't keep significantly to my right, I'll trip, or continually hit him with my elbow until he's quite bruised.

Mama's walking briskly ahead, leaving us to ourselves. I sigh softly and he looks down at me. "Anything wrong?"

"I wish…" What do I wish? The most impetuous thought comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. "I wish that you could have married someone who knew how to appreciate you." The words sound horrid to my ears, and trying to excuse myself, I quickly add, "I wish the same for Mama. It just seems that you two are so badly matched, it hurts me to see it."

"Maria." He stops altogether and disengages himself. "Maria, listen to me. There's a reason that your mother and I are together, even if it doesn't seem even remotely obvious. The Goddess doesn't make mistakes. People don't stay married for seventeen years when they're not meant to be. Someone will move on, or someone else will be wise enough to get out. Yes, your mother and I have problems. We've got to work them out, and we will, somehow. I don't know how that 'somehow' will happen, but it will. I believe that."

I stare at him. He stares back. "Besides, if I hadn't married your mother, I wouldn't have you. And for my purposes, I can't think of much worse than that."

We walk on, each of us pondering in silence.

* * *

The other girls are all there by the time I arrive, some of them looking more ill at ease than others. Elli continually tugs at her dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles from where the dress bunches. It's getting too small, but she's in a mild stage of denial. Ann stands with her legs akimbo, making me think that this is the only time of the year that she actually _wears_ a dress at all. By contrast, Karen and Popuri look right at home dressed up as goddesses.

They all swarm my way as soon as I enter the square, squealing. "Maria! Maria!...You look so pretty with your hair curly!...You're so beautiful in that dress, Maria!"

"It's almost time for the dance," Karen said, breathlessly. "Everyone remember how it goes?"

We nod, gamely and she nods back. "Alright. It's just a pirouette, so don't overdo it and hurt yourselves."

Slowly maneuvering into position, we begin the dance…

…and a few minutes later it's over and we're receiving our individual congratulations from family members and admirers. A few people have come from the surrounding townships to view the festivities; these came armed with Orangecup blossoms. As soon as they're able, they begin to press forward and distribute the spicy-smelling flowers, along with words of adulation and hugs. While receiving my share, I overhear my mother talking to Jack. Why I can pick his voice out of a jumble of noise, I choose not to deal on.

"…and you say Karen's the only one actually trained to dance? You wouldn't know it from watching them."

"Well. I suppose you would know, seeing how you came from a big city and probably saw professionals perform." She's fishing.

"They looked great."

"Yes, they were beautiful, weren't they? Maria looked pretty good, too."

I stiffen, entirely independently of my will, and tears rise unbidden. _I hate her. I hate her!_

"Maria?" Popuri's touching my shoulder. "Maria, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I answer too quickly as I draw my hand across my eyes. "Dust."

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, hopefully this makes people happy. I spent over nine hours today writing this. I think it makes sense. It may not.

Things to note:

You may have noticed that Basil and Maria are _awfully_ close. There is a very good reason for it. No, it does not involve incest. No, you will not know what it is any sooner than the next two chapters unless the story gets away from me, which it might. In that case, everything I just wrote is null and void.

I am trying, very hard, to incorporate both BTN and HM64 into this story. However, don't be too surprised if something happens that doesn't necessarily happen in either game, such as…a spouse getting booted out of his/her house and being forced to spend the night in the Inn. In case you hadn't noticed, people in Flower Bud seem to fight a lot.

Try not to make assumptions about any characters; this story is very much in its infancy (hence the chapter name 'Egg') and things will change. For better _and_ worse. And like I said, my stories have the habit of traipsing down lanes other the ones that I intend for them to follow. If you have a suggestion, though, feel free to toss it at me. I just might catch it. (Or it might bounce off my skull and knock me out cold. Depends.)

Review. If you like, that is. If you don't like, use your own judgment. ;-)


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